Transitions

Transitions have always been hard for me. It's not that I dislike change-- I often crave it, in fact-- but excitement for the new always brings with it a sharp nostalgia for the old. It applies to mundane little life shifts, as well, such as the return to reality and routine that follows a vacation.

Our time in Virginia was nice. Mr. Milkweed rested, exercised, spent endless hours on online teaching applications, and went out drinking with old buddies. I also had a good time, hanging out with not one but two groups of friends and spending a lot of time reading on the couch while Eva played with Mr. M's parents. We saw my parents, too, and the visit was unremarkable, meaning that it was rife with the general annoyances but essentially free of overt conflict. Eva had fun with them, and that's the most important thing.

But now it's back to the laundry, and the picking up, and the meal planning and grocery shopping and back to--ugh-- my job, which I can honestly say I didn't think about once while we were gone. I even forgot to update my coworkers on Mr. M's well being after his procedure-- that's how swiftly and surely the library falls from my mind when I'm not there. I'm just dialing it in these days, and I'm not proud of that, but the work's getting done, devoid of joy though it is.

Still, today-- today isn't a good day. I'm not yet back in the rhythm of things. The suitcases have been unpacked, but haven't been put in the attic. Mr. M is gone at work, and Eva and I are here again, and I'm having a hard time reclaiming my focus on the Little People doll house and the play piano and the tin of felt food in the kitchen. The couch at the in-law's house it still a fresh memory. The cat left three hairballs on the floor downstairs. It's sunny, but it's cold, and I miss Virginia.

I long for Friday. These things take a few days to set themselves to rights, and I'm sure that by then, I'll be fully present in my life here again. For now, though, I'm straddling state lines.